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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773593">and for a woman wert thou first created</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverConformEver/pseuds/un-ah'>un-ah (NeverConformEver)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bisexual Minho (Maze Runner), Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Depression, F/F, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Heteronormativity, Homophobia, M/M, Microaggressions, Over-controlling Parents, References to Depression, homophobic parents, mentions of past bullying, mentions of past suicide attempt, minho has a little sister, not really an eating disorder but there’s a bit about criticizing someone’s eating habits, ok fr tho this is just a study on bigoted asian parenting, queer solidarity between siblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:22:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverConformEver/pseuds/un-ah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Sometimes I just want to stop everything. Just... cut off all ties and go off on my own.” <i>With you<i>, he doesn’t need to say. “Things could be so much easier. I mean we’d have to figure out jobs and paying for college and everything but, it’s not impossible.”</i></i></p>
  <p>
    <i>
      <i>Newt nods. “Yeah, it’s possible. But not ideal. And that’s not what you really want, is it?”<br/></i>
    </i>
  </p>
</blockquote><i>
  <i><br/>Minho, ever the dutiful son, agrees to come home from college for Thanksgiving break even if it means leaving behind his boyfriend, Newt, for a few days. He doesn’t mind, but he isn’t looking forward to it either.</i>
</i><p>
  <i>
    <i>His is a typical middle class, Asian American family with two working parents and a little sister. And despite the strictness and high expectations, he knows his parents love him. To the point where they would never even consider the idea that he could disappoint them with something as heinous as being <i>gay</i>.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.</i>
  </i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minho (Maze Runner) &amp; Original Character(s), Minho/Newt (Maze Runner)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Pieces of Minewt</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and for a woman wert thou first created</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i know the summary says “gay” but the tags say minho is bi… to clarify, minho is bi, and in the summary i was using “gay” as an umbrella term. also, in my head minho’s extended family is mostly overseas, hence why the thanksgiving celebration is just their nuclear family unit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What about Brenda? She seems like a nice girl,” his mom says.</p><p>Minho wishes he could be surprised that this is the first thing his mom decides to address at dinner, his first meal back home from school.</p><p>“Brenda has a girlfriend,” says Minho.</p><p>His dad is reading something on his phone. Probably something from <em> American Spectator </em>—the electronic interface of his phone reflects against his glasses. His dad doesn’t seem to react to the news about Brenda, but then again, he doesn’t much react to anything. He places his phone down without looking up and takes another bite of food, chewing thoroughly on the meat. His mom frowns, pursing her lips. She has barely touched her own plate.</p><p>“That’s a shame,” she says.</p><p>The thing is, he already told them he’s bisexual. They just don’t believe him. (He’s not even sure if they know what it means.) Whether that’s a blessing or a curse, time has yet to tell.</p><p>There are a lot of things that Minho likes about being queer. The fact that he doesn’t dye his hair rainbow colors, wear ostentatious makeup, or speak in a valley girl accent and thus is perpetually in that liminal state of “coming out” is not one of them.</p><p>Minji, his little sister, puts her chopsticks down and pushes her bowl away with a sigh. Their mother looks up in acknowledgment.</p><p>“Done?”</p><p>She nods, overtly disinterested in the conversation. Then she pushes her chair away and takes her dishes dutifully to the sink before disappearing upstairs, where her homework is laid out on the table so that she can look like she’s working when she’s really procrastinating by chatting with her friends about how she has so much work to do. Yeah, Minho remembers what it was like to be her age.</p><p>Minji wasn’t there for that conversation. She wasn’t there when Minho boiled over during yet another pointless argument with their mom and said, “I’m bisexual.” She wasn’t there when his mom ignored him completely and continued on like nothing happened. He doesn’t think their parents told her, and he hasn’t said a word to her, either. They’d fought a lot as kids, but as they grew, they’d grown apart. He knows she still gets good grades despite falling asleep during class, and that’s about it.</p><p>He’s only back for a few days in order to celebrate Thanksgiving. It’s been four hours since he arrived home, leaving enough time to unpack and unwind before dinner. He already wishes he were home. His actual home, with Newt.</p><p>“My friend has a daughter,” his mom says. “Very pretty. Very nice girl. Training to be a nurse. That would go well with your nutrition science degree, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>He hasn’t told them that he’s dating Newt yet. He’s not sure if it’s because he wants to protect Newt, or if it’s because he’s afraid that this will finally be what forces them to accept it, come what may.</p><p>Minho stands up. “I’m done, too,” he says, and brings his dishes to the sink. There’s enough left on the plate that he feels bad about dumping it, so he packs it into tupperware first, as he was taught. He tucks the unused napkin, torn in half, into the drawer where they keep all the scavenged fast food napkins from various deliveries and purchases.</p><p>Minji left her dishes in the sink, unwashed. He rolls up his sleeves and begins to wash them, along with his own. If he leaves it up to their parents they’ll both get lectured, but especially him, because he’s the eldest. And because he’s rarely home and doesn’t show enough gratitude.</p><p>“Just give it a chance,” his mom says. “You may like her. Don’t go against it just because your mom suggested it. I know you always fight me. But think about it.”</p><p>He doesn’t respond. The smell of the dish soap is fresh and clean, the bubbly lather wiping everything clear before swirling down the drain. The chopsticks are wood, the dishes ceramic, but the spoons are plastic, saved from various restaurants much like the napkins. They have nicer metal spoons for when they have guests, but the plastic absorbs less heat, so when they have hot soup and it’s just family they use the reused plastic spoons. It’s gentler on the mouth.</p><p>He and Newt do the same at their apartment, things he picked up from his parents and can’t let go of.</p><p>“You’re a wonderful man,” his mom continues. “Why can’t you find a girlfriend? Just try.”</p><p>Minho places the dishes on the rack to dry without response. He has a lot of words, but not enough energy. Or maybe he’s just a coward. But this is how they’ve survived—by not making waves. Not picking fights. Not being offensive. Letting conflict wash over them and dissipate into foam upon the sand. By next morning, nothing happened. Resentment and unresolved conflict squirreled away like the less fancy dishes when guests arrive.</p><p>Minho is a different person with family than he is with his friends. More polite, more quiet, and yet much more prone to angry outbursts. Minho doesn’t think he’s ever really been angry in front of his friends. Not the ones he has now, anyway. He still doesn’t know which version of him is the truth.</p><p>As he heads up the stairs his hand is already in his pocket, holding his phone. He can feel his mother’s disappointment and disapproval following him like a cold breath on the back of his neck. He pulls out his phone the second he reaches his room, sitting heavily on the bed as he opens his messages.</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b> remind me why i didnt make you do all of our laundry before u left again<br/>
also when r we going to build that cabinet we bought for the living room</p><p>The tight fist around Minho’s heart unclenches, just a little. He sends a gif of a turtle lying on its back and kicking its legs with the words “LET’S GIVE UP” flashing above it.</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b> oh i already have<br/>
but that doesn’t mean im going to let you forget about ur failure</p><p>He looks up to double check that his bedroom door is all the way closed, then leans back against the headboard, slouching with his legs tucked up and his phone in his lap.</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>:( i thot u loved me</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b>lol gay</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>excuse u</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b>no</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b> officer im being OPPRESSED<br/>
by a white boy</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b> a gay white boy at that<br/>
yes, im gay and homophobic. we exist</p><p>He can’t keep the small grin off his face. There’s still a low simmer of anxiety humming at the back of his skull just from being here, in his parents’ house, but when he talks to Newt he can drown it out.</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>so would u prefer getting canceled first or going to hell first</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b> how kind of u to offer me a choice<br/>
i choose hell<br/>
so i can drag u down with me</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>lol gay</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b>oh, sure. the fiery pits of hell. great date spot</p><p>Minho lets the soppy, sappy feelings bloom in his chest. He has learned to stop fighting that feeling, now. Learned to water them and let them take root so the butterflies can always come back.</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>anywhere would be w u by my side bb ;)</p><p>Newt sends a gif of two turtles. One is on its back, kicking its legs in the air. The other nudges it until it’s back on its feet. Newt doesn’t say “I love you”, but Minho hears it, anyway.</p><p><em> Well, dammit, </em> Minho thinks. <em> Guess this means I’ll have to build that cabinet after all. </em></p>
<hr/><p>Minho had never even suspected.</p><p>He’s been put on vacuum duty, a job that had probably been taken over by Minji while he’d been gone. This means going through all the rooms, lifting chairs onto tables and clearing the ground of anything that could block the way, vacuuming, and then leaving the room as is for whoever uses it next to put back into place.</p><p>Minji is in the bathroom when he opens the door to her room. She takes long showers, so he has plenty of time to do her room before she finishes. He starts by moving all the clothes on the ground to on top of the bed, then flipping the chair upside down and on top of the bed as well. After he gets most of the main room, he starts vacuuming under the bed—their mom always insists on doing this part.</p><p>The vacuum hits something near the back, by the wall. He pulls the vacuum back out and shuts it off, getting down on his stomach so he can see what it is.</p><p>It’s a shoe box.</p><p>That’s not unusual. Minho kept a shoe box of secret stuff under his bed, too. But being the nosy, annoying brother he is, he decides to take a peek. The lid was labeled something before, but whatever it was, it has been scribbled out with black sharpie now. He thinks he can make out some of it. Four letters. Starts with a K, maybe?</p><p>He opens it.</p><p>There’s a small pile of sticky notes in one corner.</p><p>
  <em> I can’t believe he said that! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ikr. what an ass </em>
</p><p>
  <em> do you understand any of this lesson? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> kind of? </em>
</p><p>And the like. She’s been passing notes in class with someone, and keeping them all? Not unusual, either. Newt did the same thing with theirs. Minho never understood why he kept them; they never said anything super important, especially since they usually weren’t lucky enough to sit right next to each other in class.</p><p>There’s also a small bracelet, made up of cheap beads and knotted messily. Much too small for Minji’s wrist, now. Minho remembers it. One of Minji’s friends made friendship bracelets for them. Minho had accidentally broken it somehow. Minji had been so upset—she never recovered one of the beads. He can see the place where the string had snapped and had been retied. What was the name of Minji’s friend, again? She used to come over to play all the time. He’d complain to Newt about his sister and her annoying friends the next day, without fail.</p><p>There are other little knickknacks, sentimental little things. Drawings and doodles. Those notes that girls make for each other in middle school, written in fancy, bubbly lettering and decorated with highlighters and sometimes stickers. A couple of ribbons. More bracelets, necklaces, some handmade, some not. Cards for birthdays and Christmas. He catches sight of a name.</p><p>
  <em> Your BFF, </em>
</p><p> <em>Kacy</em></p><p>Kacy. That was Minji’s friend’s name. This is a box of things Minji has collected that had to do with Kacy.</p><p>Minho has one of these, too. He brought that old shoe box with him when he and Newt got an apartment together under the pretense of being “good friends”, according to Minho’s parents. Minho hid it so that Newt wouldn’t find it, but he’s pretty sure Newt knows about it. It’s a collection of dumb things—the triangular rock they’d been convinced was actually an arrowhead, bird feathers they’d found, treasure maps, a five entry long dictionary for when they wanted to invent their own language or secret code. The letter Newt had left for him, on the day they no longer talk about.</p><p>Minho and Minji had always butted heads as children. They had always been much too alike.</p><p>Minho puts the lid back on the shoe box and vacuums under the bed. Then he slides the box carefully back into place.</p><p>When Minji started hitting her preteens, she’d suddenly gained a disdain for “girly” things. She denounced all her classmates going crazy over the latest boy band, wrinkled her nose at popular male actors. But she had idols. Celebrities she looked up to, that she thought were pretty and aspired to be like. Minho doesn’t think she actually watched many interviews or followed their private lives through online rumors. She’d always preferred books and fictional characters to real people. But he can remember a few names. Anne Hathaway, Lucy Liu, Hayley Williams. When did she realize that the admiration was a sign of something else? When did she decide that that shoe box had to be hidden? When did she scribble out Kacy’s name, afraid that one of their parents would find it and figure it out?</p><p>Minho doesn’t like making up theories about people’s sexualities. If they wanted it to be known, they’d tell people themselves. Plus, he remembers what it had been like for Newt to grow up being bullied and called names by overly-presumptuous twats before he even had the chance to figure it out himself.</p><p>But this is his baby sister.</p><p>And he had never even considered the idea, never put any thought into it. Hadn’t any clue until just now.</p><p>They are bonded by the same roof, the same oppressive air, the same silences and judgments. They don’t have to be close or to talk all the time for him to understand what she’s going through. They have the same parents; he knows what it’s like to live with them. What it’s like to question yourself in the quiet, mouth tightly closed out of fear.</p><p>The door opens. Minji walks in, hair damp and in her PJs.</p><p>“Can you vacuum under your bed? This is the last room,” Minho says. Minji’s footsteps falter for just a second—if Minho hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed.</p><p>“Sure,” she says, making a beeline for her laptop. Minho catches a sight of Facebook Messenger when she moves her mouse, waking her laptop up. He looks away. He doesn’t need to peek to know which contact she’s checking for new messages. He leaves the vacuum behind and closes the door behind him.</p><p>He says nothing.</p>
<hr/><p>Dinner is a tinkling cacophony of silverware on plates.</p><p>Until their mom speaks, of course.</p><p>“Minji,” she says. “I got an email from one of your teachers. He said you were sleeping in his class.”</p><p>Minji continues to eat.</p><p>“Minji,” their mom repeats. “Listen when your mom is speaking to you.”</p><p>Minji puts down her chopsticks and raises her head, a bored look on her face. She looks tired, even now. Stressed.</p><p>High school is hard. And not just for the reasons everyone says—it’s just plain hard. Being a teenager and trying to figure out who you are is a full-time job already, and on top of studies and trying to perfect your college application? Minho’s glad it’s behind him.</p><p>“You stay up too late,” their mom admonishes.</p><p>“I have to to finish my homework,” Minji retorts.</p><p>“Why are you so slow? You are just lazy. Minho wasn’t like this.”</p><p>Minho does not want to be a part of this conversation. But, as usual, it’s not really within his jurisdiction. He’s here, whether he wants to be or not.</p><p>“Well I’m not Minho.”</p><p>“Minho,” their mom says. “Tell her she needs to work harder. Maybe you can give her study tips.”</p><p>Minji is tense all over, voice strained. “My grades are <em> fine, </em> mom.”</p><p>“You are getting a B in AP Chemistry.”</p><p>“It’s a hard class! Most of my classmates are getting B’s or worse.”</p><p>Their dad keeps eating, reaching for some more of the beef and veggie stir-fry.</p><p>“Why are you always comparing yourself to them? Jessica is getting an A.”</p><p>“Why are you always comparing me to Jessica and not other people?”</p><p>Minho keeps his head down and follows suit, masticating the warm rice, flavored just a bit with the sauce left behind by the stir-fry, between slow teeth.</p><p>“I don’t understand why you want to be like all the people at the bottom.”</p><p>Minho barely hides his wince.</p><p>Minji struggles to keep her voice even. “You mean my friends?”</p><p>“Why do you associate with people that aren’t smart? You should have friends that are smart, that will push you to try harder.”</p><p>Minji’s cheeks are spotted with red now. “Maybe I don’t make friends depending on their GPA. Maybe I make friends depending on whether or not I like them. Or trust them. Or can talk to them. Did you ever think of that?”</p><p>Their mom rolls her eyes and snorts. She takes a piece of pork and places it on the edge of Minho’s plate. “Eat more,” she demands. Then she continues. “I want you to do your homework downstairs from now on, where I can see you.”</p><p>Oh, no.</p><p>Minji angrily shovels some rice in her mouth.</p><p>“Slow down,” their mom says. “Chew more. Take smaller bites. You need to control yourself. Eat less.”</p><p>Oh, <em> no. </em></p><p>“—And sit up straight. Like this.” Their mother straightens her spine and rolls her shoulders back. “See, if you do this, it looks much better. You are a girl.”</p><p>Minji’s hand shakes as she clutches her chopsticks. They hover above her bowl, almost finished. She can’t decide if she should eat more out of defiance or if she should stop because part of her agrees.</p><p>“Mom,” Minho says.</p><p>“And your room is so messy,” their mother continues. “You never do the dishes. You are so irresponsible. Minho wasn’t like this.”</p><p>“Well I’m not Minho!” Minji yells. “And I’m never going to be Minho! I guess it just sucks to be you, to have such a lazy, ugly, fat daughter! Where did you go wrong, to deserve such an awful daughter like me?”</p><p>“Minji,” their dad says. “Lower your voice. There’s no need to get so angry.”</p><p>Minji swipes at her face angrily, upset at her own upset.</p><p>“I don’t think you should pressure her so much,” Minho says, finally. He puts his chopsticks down. He’s almost finished his rice. The pork still sits on the edge of his plate.</p><p>“Don’t go easy on her. It won’t do her any good,” their mom warns.</p><p>“Mom... it’s fine. Getting a B isn’t the end of the world. And stop obsessing over her weight. It isn’t healthy.”</p><p>“Can’t you help her? She’s your sister. Why aren’t you helping her? You leave home and never contact us unless you need more money,” their mom complains.</p><p>Minho sighs. “You already bought her AP prep books, right? I can give her my old notes and study guides, but that’ll just give her more to do. I don’t think it’ll help.”</p><p>To be honest, Minho only got through high school by crowd-sourcing study guides from his classmates for different classes. He could never have gotten his grades by studying on his own. He’s sure kids at Minji’s school still do the same thing. The question is, is Minji one of them?</p><p>Minji has stopped eating and is now sitting quietly, staring at the dishes on the table.</p><p>“It’s like you don’t want your own sister to succeed,” their mother says, mulishly.</p><p>“She’ll be fine. It’s just a B. It’s not that bad.”</p><p>With Minho disagreeing, their mom no longer cares to listen to what anyone has to say. “You are a bad brother. You don’t care about what happens to her,” she decides.</p><p>Minho sighs. He tries to get through to her, anyway, even if he’d lost hope of ever succeeding long ago. “Look. Even if she <em> failed </em> a class, it wouldn’t mean she’s guaranteed to be homeless or something. There are options other than getting a 4.0 GPA and going to a four-year college. You know that, right? She’s going to have plenty of chances down the road. Doing badly now doesn’t mean she’ll never succeed. Doing well now doesn’t mean she’s guaranteed to succeed, either.”</p><p>“Oh, so now she doesn’t even need to go to college? I can’t believe this.”</p><p>“I’m not saying she shouldn’t go to college, I’m just saying it’s hardly the only option out there. She could even go to a community college and transfer later—”</p><p>“Community college!” their mom scoffs.</p><p>“—I’m just. Trying to say. She’s sixteen. Nothing is the end of the world.” Even if sometimes it feels that way. Even if some sixteen year olds can’t get over the idea that this is all they’ll ever get, all they’ll ever have.</p><p>“Then why don’t you do it! Why don’t you quit college and do that instead! It must be easier, right? You kids always want to take the easy way out.”</p><p>Minho snorts. “Nothing’s easy, Mom.”</p><p>“Of course not! Because you don’t want to try!”</p><p>“Look, you know Steve Jobs was a college drop-out, right? She doesn’t need to go to an Ivy League and get straight A’s. She’s going. To be fine.”</p><p>Minho desperately hopes what he’s saying is true. But the signs are there. He’s noticed. Their parents notice, even if they misinterpret them. Bad sleeping schedule, lack of motivation, lack of energy, inability to focus, self-isolating. He’s seen it all before. Maybe he can get Newt to talk to Minji... But he sure as hell can’t bring up scary words like “therapy” or “medication” with their parents, that’s for sure.</p><p>“You should have gone to Stanford,” his mom says. “We could have paid.”</p><p>Not this again.</p><p>“I like where I am right now. I like the program I’m in. And it saves us money.”</p><p>In truth, he just wanted to be near Newt. He doesn’t regret that decision, but he can’t say that.</p><p>“I don’t understand. Stanford is a much better school. The name is important. It looks better.”</p><p>“I know. But I’ve made my decision. It’s too late now.”</p><p>Their mom sighs. “Why do you always want to do things the easy way?”</p><p>“College isn’t <em> easy, </em> no matter where you go. And it wasn’t worth it to pay that much extra just for the name recognition. I’m learning a lot where I am right now.”</p><p>“You just want to play with your friends. With—with Newt. I don’t understand why you associate—”</p><p>“Don’t finish that sentence.”</p><p>“—I don’t understand why you associate with people like him. People will think weird things about you.”</p><p>“Why are you so obsessed with who we’re friends with?” Minji interjects.</p><p>“Because! You two keep associating yourselves with people like that!”</p><p>“Like what?” Minho challenges.</p><p>“You know!” their mom says.</p><p>“It’s not a dirty word. You can say it, you know,” Minji mutters.</p><p>“All right. Fine,” their mom says. “I don’t understand why you guys keep wanting to talk to those—those gays. You are not a gay.”</p><p>Minji and Minho remain quiet, pinning her with twin stares.</p><p>Does she really not see? Or is she in denial?</p><p>Their mom sighs again, and begins to collect the dishes. As one, they all stand and begin to help, robotically.</p><p>“Minho, I know you want to help,” she continues. Minho grits his teeth. He knows what’s coming. They’ve had this conversation over and over again. “But people like that, it’s best to stay away from them. I know you have a kind heart. But you need to find other friends. Be with normal people. Find a girlfriend!”</p><p>After the incident in high school, everyone heard. There was no hiding it from his mom, especially back when he didn’t have a car and needed his parents to drive him to the hospital to visit. So much of Newt’s life became public after that, so many people talked and tittered behind their hands as if they understood.</p><p>None of them do.</p><p>Not even Minho completely understands, though he tries.</p><p>But there’s one thing he knows for certain. He isn’t with Newt out of <em> pity. </em> And he hates that his mom keeps trying to reduce their relationship to something as small as that.</p><p>He hates how small she thinks, how small of a space she traps him and Minji in. There’s no room to breathe, no room to <em> be. </em></p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with Newt.” Just like there’s nothing wrong with Minji. And if that’s a lie, then, well. Count Minho a liar. He’d rather be wrong the right way, than right the wrong way. “If you can’t see that, that’s your problem.”</p><p>He doesn’t help finish putting the dishes away.</p>
<hr/><p>Newt’s face is only half in the frame. He has his laptop camera angled upwards so all Minho sees is his eyebrows, which means he looks like he’s glowering permanently. (Newt has always had a brow prone to frowning and a mouth prone to smirking.) Minho regards his screen fondly while his camera loads, loving the visible impatience on Newt’s face.</p><p>“Finally,” Newt says when Minho’s face pops up.</p><p>“I can’t even see you,” Minho complains. “Move your camera.”</p><p>“No, it’s a bad angle,” Newt complains, but he tilts the screen down anyway. The laptop is on his chest, his head propped up by pillows. “So, how’s the fam?”</p><p>It is a bad angle. It makes his neck look short and shows a zit he has under his chin. Minho wants to kiss him so badly it feels like a physical ache. “The same,” he answers with a sigh.</p><p>“Even Minji? How old is she now, sixteen?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Minho says. He considers telling Newt what he found, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud, here, under his parents’ roof. Maybe when he gets back he’ll tell Newt his suspicions, when they’re curled up together on the couch or in the kitchen hip-checking each other while waiting for leftovers to heat in the microwave. “And how are you? Holding up without me?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Just fine. In fact, better if you don’t come back, got enough to do around here without having to deal with you and your dying plants.”</p><p>“Hey! I’ve kept Spikes alive for two weeks!”</p><p>“No, you haven’t. <em> I’ve </em>kept Spikes alive for two weeks. You forgot about Spikes for two weeks.”</p><p>“Not true. I bought him a new pot!”</p><p>“Which we didn’t use because it doesn’t drain.”</p><p>“But it was a cute pot.”</p><p>Newt sighs and nods, a fond smile on his face. “Yes, it was a cute pot.”</p><p>“See?”</p><p>“Cute, but useless.”</p><p>“Like me!” Minho says gleefully.</p><p>Newt makes a considering face. “Yeah, I can see the resemblance.”</p><p>“Spikes is my biological child. Of course there’s a resemblance. What are you implying?”</p><p>“First of all, we were talking about the pot. Second of all, I’m not <em> implying </em> anything. I’m <em> saying </em> that if Spikes is your biological child, then how many children have you murdered with your negligence?”</p><p>“We have shared custody, you know. Shared custody, shared responsibility.”</p><p>“Not for long. I’m calling Plant Protective Services to report your complete lack of green thumb.”</p><p>Minho looks at his hand, then holds up his decidedly not-green thumb. “Oh, you’re right. I never noticed.”</p><p>Newt laughs. It deepens his smile lines and flushes his face pink, even if the camera doesn’t pick up on it. “You’re so stupid.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence where they both stare at each other through the screen. Their eyes never meet their cameras, but they watch each other watch each other, and Minho imagines he can feel Newt breathing alongside him.</p><p>“How are things, really, though,” Newt asks, finally. His expression is indulgent and mildly exasperated, knowing.</p><p>Minho drops his head back. He knew he couldn’t hide anything from Newt, but still. “We fought about school again,” he groans. Newt nods in a <em> well, what can you do </em> fashion. “And I think Minji’s depressed. But I don’t know how to bring it up with her.”</p><p>Newt scooches down further, sliding down until he’s nearly horizontal except for his face. “Did you want me to talk to her?” he asks, one hand moving up to switch windows and look at something else.</p><p>Minho runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe? Even if you guys didn’t really talk a lot, you’ve still been around for most of her life. Would it be weird?”</p><p>“Well, it’s always weird,” Newt says. “It’s weird when I talk to my therapist, so I imagine it’d be weird with Minji.”</p><p>“Is it weird with me?”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Newt admits. “But usually I don’t need to say anything with you, so it’s all right.”</p><p>Minho accepts that easily. They’re best friends, but Newt has always been private, interior. Their relationship is less words and more feeling around blindly, fingers brushing every now and then to make sure the other is still there.</p><p>“Two more years,” Minho says. “And then she’ll be eighteen and things will be much better.” Or much worse.</p><p>He immediately feels guilty saying that. Sure, their parents can be uptight and bigoted, but they aren’t awful people, or even awful parents. At least, he doesn’t think so. He’d counted down the days until his eighteenth birthday himself, but it’s not that simple. They still pay his tuition, help him out with rent sometimes. He’s still on their insurance, he still craves his mom’s cooking, talks to his dad about sports.</p><p>“A lot can happen in two years,” Newt remarks. “And a lot of difference can be made in two years.”</p><p>“So I should talk to her.”</p><p>“You should talk to her about it before I do at least,” Newt agrees. “I don’t mind doing it, but you can’t surprise her with it. It’ll already be awkward. She may not want to talk to anyone.”</p><p>“I think...I think she’s...” Minho pauses. Should he say it, after all? “I think she might be like us. But I’m not sure.”</p><p>Newt scratches his forehead and twists his lips wryly. “Well, that certainly doesn’t help on the parents front. But it can be a way for you to start the conversation, too. It helped with Sonya.”</p><p>“Yeah, but Minji and I aren’t close like you and Sonya are.”</p><p>Newt shrugs. “Never too late to start, I’d say.”</p><p>Minho sighs, suddenly tired. It’s not that Minho doesn’t care, or even that he doesn’t want to follow Newt’s advice. But as is wont to do when Newt is there, his hidden burdens come tumbling out thoughtlessly, the what ifs and buts and guilty secrets revealing themselves.</p><p>“Sometimes I just want to stop everything. Just... cut off all ties and go off on my own.” <em> With you, </em> he doesn’t need to say. “Things could be so much easier. I mean we’d have to figure out jobs and paying for college and everything but, it’s not impossible.”</p><p>Newt nods. “Yeah, it’s possible. But not ideal. And that’s not what you really want, is it?”</p><p>Minho deflates. “Yeah, you’re right.” Newt’s always right. “I just feel like shit. And I know I should be grateful for, you know. Having parents that don’t like, beat me or something. That they love me and want what’s best for me and, you know, give a shit. They worked so hard to get to where they are, so they could provide for us, so I would never know what it’s like to be hungry, and here I am whining about—”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re damn lucky. But you’re not invincible, and you’re allowed to be angry and upset about the stuff that sucks, too,” Newt interrupts, voice stern. “You don’t need to earn the right to feel bad, or even to complain. No one’s keeping track, Minho. There’s no minimum amount of suffering for your pain to be valid.” Newt says this calmly, matter-of-fact. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.</p><p>Minho takes a deep breath, holding it for a couple seconds before letting it out with a gust. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. Being back here is just... yeah.”</p><p>“Careful, there,” Newt jokes. “Someone might think I’m the functional one around here.”</p><p>Minho rolls his eyes. “You are, though. You kept Spikes alive for two weeks.”</p><p>“Damn right.”</p><p>Minho cracks a smile. He rests his hand on the top edge of his laptop screen, imagining he’s cupping Newt’s cheek. “What would I do without you?”</p><p>“Kill a lot of plant children, I’d suspect,” Newt says.</p><p>“Oh, for sure.”</p><p>“Never use the dishwasher, probably.”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>“Cry into your disgusting, healthy oatmeal every morning because you’re sad and lonely and have no one to send your weird surrealist memes to.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, how could I forget that part?”</p><p>“You’d be fine, though, actually,” Newt says, softly.</p><p>Minho shakes his head. He disagrees. “Doesn’t matter. That’s not going to happen. You’re stuck with me. Boohoo.”</p><p>Newt smiles, just a little. His lips don’t move but some of the tension goes out of his brow, and his eyes crinkle. Even from this angle, where Minho can practically see all the way up his nose, he knows Newt’s tells.</p><p>“All right, you sap,” Newt says. “Try not to do anything stupid. Talk to you soon.”</p><p>“You too,” Minho says. “And I love you.”</p><p>Newt sends him a quizzical look that says, <em> Well, duh. Tell me something I don’t know. </em>But he smiles for real this time and raises his hand in a little wave before the screen goes black.</p><p>Minho sighs and closes his laptop, pulling off his headphones.</p><p>Then startles.</p><p>Minji is standing in his doorway, one hand on the doorknob, a plate in the other. She’s staring at him wide-eyed. How much had she heard?</p><p>Judging from her expression, she at least heard the “I love you”.</p><p>They stare at each other for a long moment, quiet. Then she steps forward and places the plate on the desk. “Mom wanted me to bring this up for you,” she says.</p><p>It’s a plate of Korean pears, peeled and sliced. One of their fancy, mini metal forks lies on the side.</p><p>An apology. A call for truce.</p><p>Minho swallows. “Thanks.”</p><p>Minji looks like she’s struggling for words. Minho decides to spare her.</p><p>“Just Newt,” he says, answering her unspoken question as though that little fact doesn’t change everything.</p><p>She doesn’t meet his eyes, but nods, slowly. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, then heads towards the door.</p><p>“Minji?”</p><p>She pauses and turns back to look at him.</p><p>“You know you can talk to me, right? About...”</p><p>She stares at him, mind whirring. He sees the moment she realizes he knows.</p><p>“...About whatever you need,” he finishes lamely. She blinks, then nods.</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” she says.</p><p>“Okay. As long as you know.”</p><p>She nods again and slips out the door.</p>
<hr/><p>Minho eats the pears. He eats the pears and shuts up and pretends nothing happened. Why forgive what is forgotten? The day passes like normal, and they all settle back into their usual routine of not talking to one another.</p><p>It’s like he never left.</p><p>He wanders down for breakfast. His mom is up already, there’s food on the table. He eats while she putters around in the kitchen, his dad watches Fox News in the next room over. Minho tries his hardest not to overhear because he wants to eat his breakfast in peace. It doesn’t work, the words filtering in between bites. World catastrophe, national catastrophe, local catastrophe. The liberals are trying to undermine American values.</p><p>He washes his dishes.</p><p>He goes for a run, the slap of his sneakers against the sidewalk numbing, the turns and stop signs and bumps along the route ingrained in his muscles.</p><p>He takes a shower.</p><p>He studies for the stupid Gen Ed class that his college didn’t take AP credit for.</p><p>His mom calls them down for lunch.</p><p>They eat.</p><p>His mom puts extra food on his plate, always the choicest bits. It is a pleasant meal—a quiet one.</p><p>And all the while, Minho thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. And inside, his thinking fuels the feeling and the feelings boil over, sticky and messy and too much for his ribcage.</p><p>He’d been golden boy, the eldest son. He’d done everything right, for as long as he could. They’re proud of him, and that’s why they’re so hard on him, he knows that. He’s borne their pride, gifted and endowed upon him like the sun touching the damp earth, as a burden his entire life. How do you reject suffering that stems from love?</p><p>As eldest child, he is supposed to be the one everyone can look to—whether that be his parents when they need help with technology or with an English term, or Minji when someone bothers her at school or when she’s having trouble with homework. But despite doing everything he was supposed to—getting good grades, going to college, not partying too hard or doing drugs, answering his parents’ texts, getting a job—he hasn’t been fulfilling all of his duties.</p><p>He’s meant to set an example, clear the way. Has he done that for Minji? Has he made room for her under the heavy weight of their parents’ regard? Has he done what he could to shield her, protect her from what he knows from personal experience is yet to come?</p><p>He considers asking Newt for advice again. He knows he could. Newt always knows what to do.</p><p>But he needs to figure this one out for himself. He has to decide on his own what kind of son, man, older brother he wants to be.</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>wanna meet my parents</p><p>Of course, Newt grew up with him. He knows all of the Park family.</p><p>But of course, that’s not what Minho means.</p><p>The typing bubble appears and disappears. Appears, and disappears.</p><p><b>newt:</b> <b><br/>
</b> oh, you fucker<br/>
are we doing this?</p>
<hr/><p>Dinner. Thanksgiving. Minji and Minho on one side of the table, their parents on the other.</p><p>“Brenda and her girlfriend are going on a trip together,” Minho says conversationally. Minji glances up at him from the corner of her eye, but doesn’t say anything. Their dad clears his throat, then picks up his chopsticks. Their mom frowns.</p><p>“Alone?” their mom asks.</p><p>“Yeah, of course. No one wants to third-wheel with them,” Minho says.</p><p>“Two girls?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“That’s not safe,” she says, alarmed. “Two girls traveling alone? They should be careful.”</p><p>“They’ve got each other,” Minho says. “They’re visiting Castro District. In San Francisco.”</p><p>“Is it dangerous, there? Big city.” She appears to have forgotten her initial alarm, and returns to nonchalance, carefully picking up the smallest piece of meat visible from the dish to put onto her plate. Braised beef short ribs. Their dad goes for the meat as well, jaws working silently.</p><p>“There’s always a risk,” Minho allows. “But hopefully since Castro District is the gay neighborhood, no one will bother them for being a couple at least.”</p><p>Something in her face tightens. Minji takes a sip of tea (something loose leaf and non-caffeinated—their mom doesn’t like it when they have caffeine too late), observing quietly.</p><p>“That’s nice,” their mom says, stiffly.</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about driving up there myself, soon,” Minho says. “Seems like it could be fun.”</p><p>“San Francisco,” their mom hums. “There is a lot we can do there, as a family. Big city,” she repeats.</p><p>“Sure,” Minho says. “Maybe some other time, though. I was going to take Newt.”</p><p>“Just Newt?”</p><p>“Did you want to go bar-hopping together with us?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Minji is too young,” she says, as though Minho needed reminding.</p><p>“Minji can go by herself if she wants, when she’s older.”</p><p>“Not by herself. Too dangerous. A woman should never travel alone.” She directs that towards Minji, who does not seem to acknowledge her advice. “Why with Newt? You already live together. Spend more time with your family. Don’t party so much.”</p><p>Minho takes a deep breath. “Because Newt and I are dating.”</p><p>He waits for something. Anything. But it’s just like last time: nothing. Their dad continues to eat. He gives Minho a silent look of lukewarm incredulity, but otherwise lets the matriarch handle things. Their mom does not visibly react beyond pausing for a moment and making a disapproving face.</p><p>“Don’t let that boy trick you,” she admonishes. “You are not like him. You are being too nice.”</p><p>“I’m not dating Newt to be <em> nice, </em> mom,” Minho says, trying to tell himself to relax his jaw.</p><p>“I know you want to show support to your friends, but this is not the way,” she continues. “You should know better, Minho. What will Minji think?”</p><p>Minji and Minho exchange quick glances. Their mom doesn’t notice.</p><p>“What are you afraid that Minji will think?”</p><p>Their mom purses her lips. “You shouldn’t just follow what your friends do,” she repeats.</p><p>“Then you’ll be happy to know I’m not. You’ll be happy to know that I’m not just <em> saying </em> I’m bisexual, but that I <em> am </em> bisexual. That means I can like both girls and boys.” And others, but he’s not going to breach that topic here. “I can like whoever I want. And I’m telling you that I like a boy. I’m dating Newt, the love of my life.”</p><p>“Minho,” she says in a warning tone. “Don’t speak to your mother like that.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“You are my son,” she says. “I know my son. My son is not gay.”</p><p>It isn’t a surprise to hear her say that. He’d been anticipating those words all night. But it still hurts in a way that makes it hard to breathe, in a way that turns his mind white-hot with panic and dread. He’d known. He had always known, even when he didn’t know he knew. Before he ever thought of sex or kissing or dating, he’d somehow picked up on the idea of “right” and “wrong”, of “boy” and “girl” and “boys and girls”. He never had to ask his parents which one was which and who belonged with who. He’d just known.</p><p>Until he’d learned that Newt was different. And then, that he was different. And finally, that that wrong difference was right, much too right, to ever be deniable. That being in love the wrong way was the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to him.</p><p>Minho likes girls, sure. Just like how he knows he likes Newt. And that’s enough for him.</p><p>It’s not complicated, at all.</p><p>“Your son is in love with a boy,” Minho says. “I’m in love with him, Mom.”</p><p>“Yeobu,” their mom says, looking towards their dad for support. Their dad sighs and puts down his chopsticks, wiping his mouth.</p><p>“You will move out of that apartment,” he says, adopting a stern tone of voice. “Or we will not help you pay rent.”</p><p>“I have a job,” he fires back. “I can pay my own rent.”</p><p>“So that’s why you decided to get a job! You should be focusing on your studies!” their mom exclaims.</p><p>“I decided to get a job because I didn’t want to burden you any more than I had to.”</p><p>She shakes her head. “You just want to fight me. You just hate your mom.”</p><p>“I don’t hate you,” Minho says. Sometimes, he wishes he did. It would make everything so much easier. “That’s why I wanted you to know.”</p><p>“We are not talking about this. Not at the dinner table,” she says, clearly frustrated and uncomfortable. “Why can’t we ever have a nice family dinner?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Minji looks surprised at his bald rejection of their mom’s request. They don’t say “no” like that in this house. Not against their mom.</p><p>“We’re talking about this. Now,” he continues, staring her in the eye. “I like boys, Mom. I’m in love with Newt. I live with him. I kiss him, I hold him. One day, I want to marry him.”</p><p>“That’s enough,” she says, angrily. “What about children?”</p><p>“We can adopt.”</p><p>“What will everyone think?”</p><p>“Whatever they want, I’d suspect,” Minho snaps. “Why do you care?”</p><p>“Because you are my son!” she yells, throwing her chopsticks down onto the table. “You are my son!”</p><p>“Exactly! Why can’t you just listen to what I have to say? Why do you care so much about what other people think?” Their voices rise, pushing up against one another.</p><p>“Because they will say bad things about you! They will say bad things about me!”</p><p>“Is that why you’re worried? Gossip?” he scoffs. She picks up on his derisive tone, turning red. Is it anger, or is it shame?</p><p>“Don’t talk back to me!”</p><p>Minho remembers with sudden, terrible clarity, that it’s because of people like his parents that Minho received his first love letter in high school, only to discover that it was also his best friend’s suicide note.</p><p>The doorbell rings. Their dad gets up to see who it is.</p><p>Minho thinks about the time he got his jacket wet during a trip, and had to wear his dad’s to keep warm. Their mom had knelt in front of him in the middle of the sidewalk, fussing and buttoning it all the way up to his chin, carefully folding the sleeves up until they were at a proper length and covering his wrists. When he was little, she would peel tangerines for him. Not just the thick outer skin and rind, but carefully picking open the thin skin that separated each segment, so he would only have to eat the juiciest, tenderest parts. He remembers sitting in her lap and the joy he felt when he made her proud, memorizing his times tables. She was the one who taught him the trick to remembering the nines.</p><p>The soft sound of greetings from the door.</p><p>The braised beef short ribs. The spicy seafood stew with tofu so soft you can’t pick it up with your chopsticks without it tearing. The turkey porridge, the little bowls of banchan. </p><p>She cooked up a feast, today. All his favorites.</p><p>“Are you going to disown me?” he asks.</p><p>The sound of footsteps.</p><p>“Cut me off, financially?” he continues. “Never speak of me again?”</p><p>Their mom’s frosty stare could cut through bone. “You are my son,” she says again. “This is our family. Family always comes first.” She is ferocious, a mother bear gearing up for an attack against something she senses but cannot see. “We believe in family values. Unlike others.”</p><p>Newt steps into the room quietly, their dad close behind.</p><p>Is Minho tearing their family apart? Is just the act of being who he is ruining everything their mom has worked so hard to preserve?</p><p>He thinks about Minji. Their shoe boxes, squirreled away under the bed, names scribbled out.</p><p>“Why are you choosing other people over your family?” their mom asks.</p><p>Minho tries to swallow. His jaw feels heavy, difficult to move, to lift. His belly is filled with food cooked by their mom, made with him in mind, out of tenderness and love. He feels like a criminal eating it, stealing something that he doesn’t deserve. The meal, the food—the purest expression of love their mom is capable of. Is he allowed to participate in it, having broken one of their unspoken family rules? In not being what he was supposed to be for them? Is he allowed to take this into his body, use it to sustain himself? Does he deserve that love, which despite everything everyone says is delineated by so many conditions?</p><p>He turns and gives Newt a sad smile. “Hey.”</p><p>Newt quirks one half of his lips. “Hey yourself.”</p><p>Minho stands and Newt meets him halfway, a soft, tender kiss. He takes Newt’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers. Newt squeezes back.</p><p>There’s no going back now. They can’t deny it anymore. Not like this.</p><p>“Mom, Dad,” Minho says. “You know Newt.”</p><p>No one moves. His mom does nothing to invite him in, to clear another space at the table. He is not welcome. But he’s here, because Minho asked him to be.</p><p>Minho had already packed his bags, just in case. Looks like he won’t be finishing Thanksgiving dinner.</p><p>“I’d like it if he could join us for dinner,” Minho says, though he knows the answer. He has to try.</p><p>His mom turns back to the food, spitefully taking a piece of spinach and putting it in her mouth. She is set on ignoring him. Minho and Newt stand there, waiting. Newt looks to Minho, and lets him make the decision. Minho is gripping his hand so hard it must be painful, but Newt doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>Then Minho tugs Newt towards the stairs.</p><p>“So you are just going to leave?” his mom asks, voice cold.</p><p>Minho stops, but does not turn to face her. “You don’t want me here,” he says.</p><p>“So you are just going to leave?” she repeats.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>She is holding back tears, spine rigid, mouth a straight line.</p><p>“This is all your fault,” she tells Newt.</p><p>“Mom,” Minho warns.</p><p>“What did you do to him? You are bad for him. You make him throw away his family?”</p><p>“Mom!” Minho says, feeling his temper rise. “This isn’t about him.”</p><p>Newt doesn’t flinch. He stands straight, Minho’s hand in his own. Calm.</p><p>“I’m not trying to steal your son away from you, Mrs. Park,” he says. “I’m trying to help you take him back. Neither of us want you to lose him.”</p><p>She takes a deep, calming breath. “You are not welcome in this house.”</p><p>“Then neither am I,” Minho says.</p><p>They retreat upstairs to collect his luggage.</p><p>When they come back down, his mom is the only one at the table, stubbornly continuing to pick at her meal. Minji is probably hiding in her room.</p><p>When they reach the door, Minho’s dad is there, waiting. Newt glances between them, picks up the luggage, and leaves them to it.</p><p>“You can choose a girl,” his dad says. “Just think about it. It would make everything so much easier for you.”</p><p>His dad had always been the calm one. The logical one. The passive one.</p><p>“We just want what’s best for you,” he continues. “Just think about it.”</p><p>Minho has been holding back tears for a while now. It’s all he can do to keep them at bay now, until he is in the car, alone with Newt.</p><p>“You’ve always had an idea of what you want for me. What you think is best for me. I want what I think is best for me,” he says, finally.</p><p>He puts on his shoes and steps out, door swinging shut behind him.</p>
<hr/><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b> if you ever need anything, just call<br/>
if anything happens, you can come live with us<br/>
you’re always welcome here</p><p><b>minji:</b> <b><br/>
</b>okay</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b> im not abandoning you<br/>
ill come back<br/>
we just need some time</p><p><b>minji:</b> <b><br/>
</b>will u be alright?</p><p><b>minho:</b> <b><br/>
</b>ill be fine</p>
<hr/><p>Minho collapses onto the couch. Newt rolls the suitcase into their bedroom before joining him. It’s nearly midnight.</p><p>He tries. He tries so hard because his eyes are already puffy and sore, his chest already aching. But the tears come again, anyway.</p><p>Newt rubs his shoulder and lends his own for Minho to cry on. Minho slumps against him gratefully, clinging to shreds of familiarity.</p><p>“They still love you, you know,” Newt says.</p><p>Minho’s tired heart creaks under that weight.</p><p>“I know,” he says. “I know.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>u can find me on tumblr <a href="https://manako-no-yami.tumblr.com">@manako-no-yami</a> if u so desire</p><p>many many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelieve">unbelieve</a> for helping me beta this fic!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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